While the titans of the cultivation world discussed the fate of continents and the quality of Yeti blood near the central plaza, the true heart of the Founding Banquet beat in the streets, alleyways, and rooftops of the newly born Cloud-Mist City.

The main plaza could only hold a fraction of the city’s exploding population. But Li Yu’s decree had been absolute: Everyone eats. Everyone celebrates.

And so, the entire city had become a massive banquet hall.

Every newly paved street was lined with long wooden tables and makeshift benches stacked from construction lumber. Balconies overflowed with people dangling their legs over the railings and holding bowls of food. Even the flat rooftops of the half-finished warehouses were crowded under the glow of thousands of spirit-lanterns that drifted overhead like lazy fireflies.

The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, rich spices and the collective warmth of tens of thousands of people celebrating survival.

Old Man Chen, a master stonemason whose hands were permanently stained grey from granite dust sat on a sturdy crate in an alleyway just off the main thoroughfare. He was a mortal, having never sensed a wisp of Qi in his sixty years, but tonight he felt like a king.

He held a bowl of noodles that was bigger than his head. It was the famous “Golden Fire Dragon” mix that had recently taken the region by storm. A swirling vortex of golden bone broth and fiery red chili oil, coating thick, chewy noodles. There were many other dishes all around him to feast on as well.

“I tell you, boy,” Chen slurped loudly as he addressed his young apprentice, Xiao Hu. Xiao Hu was busy inhaling his own bowl and greedily looking at what to try next. “I’ve built walls for three different sects in my life. The one fed us hardtack and water. Another gave us millet porridge. But this?”

He gestured with his chopsticks at the feast spread out on a plank between them. Besides the noodles, there were platters of roasted mountain goat, steamed river fish and baskets of fresh Moon-Cakes.

“This is an Emperor’s meal.”

Xiao Hu nodded vigorously because his mouth was too full to speak. He swallowed with effort. “But Master Chen, the cultivators… they’re eating the same thing? Truly?”

“Aye,” Chen said as his eyes were twinkling. “Well, almost. See that serving line over there?”

He pointed to a bustling stall draped in blue cloth.

“That’s the Spirit Line. For the folks who can fly and punch rocks. Those who have cultivated Qi. Their meat comes from beasts that breathe fire, and their wine would burn a hole through your stomach. We don’t get to eat that because, well, we can’t. We would die.”

He pointed to their own line which they had waited in. It was draped in red cloth.

“This is the Mortal Line. Same goat, just didn’t shoot lightning. Same recipe, same chef. Just… safer. The Commander said he didn’t want anyone exploding during the party. I believe the announcement was ‘Eat what you want but remember your own abilities. I don’t want any deaths tonight.’”

“The Commander is a strange one,” Xiao Hu mused. He was looking toward the distant glow of the central plaza. “They built that big statue of him looking all serious with a sword but I saw him yesterday near the north wall. He was eating a bun and laughing with the guards about a dog that stole a sausage.”

“That’s why this city will last, boy,” Old Man Chen declared proudly. He was pouring himself a cup of high-grade rice wine. “The best foundations aren’t stone. They’re bellies full of good food. Cheers to the strange Commander!”

They clinked their earthenware cups together, the sound lost in the roar of the celebration.

Further down the street, near the yet-to-be-opened Alchemist Hall, the atmosphere was charged with a different kind of energy. This area was packed with low-level cultivators. Qi Condensation disciples and a few early Foundation Establishment experts from the various sects that now formed the Alliance.

They were sitting on benches, shoulder to shoulder, forced to pass the sauces and condiments to their former enemies.

Disciple Wei, a promising young sword cultivator from the Mist-River Sect, sat stiffly. To his right was a massive brute from the Iron Blood Sect who was still wearing his red armor at the table. To his left was a sneaky-looking scout from the Violet Silk Pavilion who kept twirling a poisoned hairpin.

The air was tense. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone to say the wrong thing. Then, the food arrived.

Huge platters of Thunder-Ox ribs, glazed in a honey like substance and spirit-spices. The trays were dropped onto the center of the table. The smell was intoxicating. It was a high-grade spirit meat that most of these low-level disciples only dreamed of tasting.

The Iron Blood brute grunted as his eyes widened. He reached out a massive hand. The Violet Silk scout’s eyes narrowed and her hand twitched toward her hairpin.

But the brute didn’t grab the biggest piece for himself. He grabbed the platter and shoved it toward Wei.

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“Eat, water-boy,” the brute rumbled. “You look skinny. Need meat to swing sword good.”

Wei blinked, stunned. He tentatively took a rib. “Uh. Thank you, Daoist Brother.”

The ice broke. Within minutes, the table was a chaotic mess of reaching hands and clinking wine jars. It was an all you could eat. The commanders had made sure of this so there would be no troubles. Any extra food could be stored away in storage rings so there would be no waste.

“I can’t believe it,” the Violet Silk scout mumbled as her mouth was full of spicy chicken. “Do you know who just landed? I saw the ships.”

“Who didn’t?” The Iron Blood brute chewed on a bone. “The Five Mountain Alliance. The heavy fleet. I thought the ground was going to crack. I can’t believe they showed up for the founding of an alliance we are a part of. It is a true honor.”

“And the Divine Wind Sect,” Wei added with eyes shining. “Their ships were so fast I barely saw them. The Wind Matriarch herself is here. I caught a glimpse of her. I can die peacefully now. She was a true beauty.”

“And that freezing cold ship from the North,” the scout shivered. “Barbarians. But powerful barbarians.”

The table fell silent for a moment as the weight of the realization settled in.

“Our Alliance…” Wei started softly. “We’re… we’re actually important, aren’t we?”

“We used to fight over scraps left by the Crimson Fang,” the Iron Blood disciple grunted. “Now? The titans of the continent are guests in our house. Eating our food. Showing respect to our alliance. All because of the Commander.”

“It feels unreal,” the scout admitted. “Like we woke up in a different world.”

“It’s real,” Wei said as he was looking at the diverse group around the table. “And it’s ours. I don’t know about you all but I’m tired of fighting over scraps. I want to build something. Something that will last for generations. Let’s make this alliance the best we can!”

The Iron Blood brute raised his massive wine jar.

“To building something,” he bellowed. “And to not dying in a ditch!”

“To not dying!” the table cheered, the former enemies clinking cups with genuine fervor.

On the rooftop garden of a newly constructed teahouse overlooking the southern district, Merchant Jin, a rotund man in expensive silk robes, was doing what merchants do best: calculating.

He was enjoying a plate of exquisitely roasted duck. It was mortal grade but cooked to perfection. He was looking down at the bustling streets below as he ate.

“Incredible,” Jin murmured to his partner, Merchant Hao. “Look at the volume of trade just from the food stalls. The coin flowing through this city will be immense.”

“It’s the stability, Jin,” Hao replied. “This Commander Li… he seems to understand that commerce needs peace. He seems like his rules and policies have merchants and businesses in mind as well. He must be a well versed merchant himself.” Hao commented not knowing that Li Yu was copying a lot of what Kui had set out for the Golden Shell Guild when it came to those types of policies.

“Peace backed by some of the biggest fists in the East,” Jin corrected, pointing his chopstick toward the plaza. “Did you see Shen Tu arrive? When the Earth God himself shows up to your housewarming party, bandits tend to stay away.”

“The Cloud-Mist Peaks are rich, Hao,” Jin continued, his eyes gleaming with opportunity. “The spirit veins are strong. The mineral deposits are massive. Now that the Alliance of the Jagged Peaks has secured the area, the mining operations will begin. The blacksmiths, alchemists and others will need supplies. The smiths will need ore. And these thousands of people will need clothes, tea and luxury goods.”

He leaned over the railing and was looking at the joyous crowd.

“This isn’t just a banquet, my friend. It’s the opening of a gold mine. We need to secure the prime storefronts on the main avenue before prices triple tomorrow.”

“Already done,” Hao replied. “But I was only able to buy one of the lots this morning while everyone was watching the ships land. They have rules so things are more fair for everyone. I was told by someone higher up that it’s okay to make profits but don’t be too greedy. To know our limits and play fairly.”

Jin laughed. “You old fox! Looks like they are watching for people like you. To the Alliance of the Jagged Peaks. May their reign be long and profitable for all.”

As the night went on, the separate conversations began to merge into a collective hum of excitement. The initial awe of the powerful guests faded and was replaced by a sense of belonging or a sense of a successful future.

In a small square near the barracks, a group of mortal tailors were explaining the intricacies of the new Alliance uniforms to a group of attentive cultivators.

“See, you need double stitching here at the shoulder,” a matronly tailor explained while poking the bicep of a burly Thunderclap mercenary. “Because you lot keep flexing and ripping the seams.”

The mercenary nodded seriously. “Good point, Auntie. My deltoids are a problem.”

Near the new library, young scholars—some mortal, some aspiring cultivators—were debating the architectural merits of the city walls while sharing a basket of fruit.

“The spiritual arrays are integrated into the foundation,” one scholar explained excitedly. “It’s genius! It uses the natural earth Qi of the valley to help power the defenses.”

Everywhere, people were talking about the future not as a vague concept but as a concrete plan they were part of.

“I’m going to join the city guard,” a young mortal man told his parents over a bowl of stew. “They’re taking non-cultivators for logistics and patrol. Good pay and they teach you how to fight. If you can sense Qi, they will teach you cultivation just like a sect.”

“I’m going to apply to the Alchemy Hall,” a young girl with soot on her face declared. “I know herbs. I can help. Hopefully it will become more in the future.”

The fear that had dominated the region during the war was gone, burned away by the bonfires and drowned in wine. In its place was a fragile but growing sense of ownership.

This wasn’t just Li Yu’s city. It was their city. What they can do and what they can get from it, they will have to seize it with their own hands.

Late in the night a sudden cheer erupted from the central plaza, rolling outwards like a wave. A massive display of fireworks, courtesy of the Divine Wind Sect, exploded overhead. Wind Qi shaped the explosions into dragons, phoenixes and swirling mountain peaks that lit up the entire valley in brilliant colors.

Under the shower of magical light, Old Man Chen raised his cup one last time in his alleyway.

“Look at that, boy,” he whispered to his sleeping apprentice. “The sky is burning but nothing is being destroyed. It’s a good change.”

He drained his cup, the taste of good wine and hope lingering on his tongue. The Founding Banquet was a success not because the powerful were impressed but because the weak felt, for the first time in a long time, that they were part of the story as well.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep